


i’ll face down the world with you

by bastigod



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/pseuds/bastigod
Summary: “Who in this world can I trust, if not you?”After overhearing rumors of an assassination plot on the lives of him and his father, Crown Prince Rintarou of Inarizaki hires Sir Osamu to investigate and stop the plot before it's too late.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 45
Kudos: 293
Collections: SunaOsa





	i’ll face down the world with you

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Characters:  
> Miya Atsumu, Ojiro Aran, Oomimi Ren, Michinari Akagi, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Ginjima Hitoshi
> 
> Additional Tags/Warnings:  
> Minor and Background Pairings, Alcohol Use, Innuendo/Non-Explicit Sexual Language, Minor Original Characters, Minor Character Death (Only OCs)

_A Complete History of Inarizaki: Volume 10_

Osamu’s pointer finger ran over the gold leaf title, the embossed letters pleasant against his skin. He curled two fingers around the burgundy leather spine of the massive tome — identical to a whopping eighteen volumes on the same shelf — before pulling it.

There was a click, then a faint whirr. With a breathy hiss, the dark bookcase shifted as the mechanism inside activated. He slid the door open and entered the room within.

The Crown Prince’s quarters consisted of corridor after corridor of impersonal rooms. Bland seating areas. Gold framed portraits of long dead ancestors. An over perfumed and overstuffed bedroom.

But here, hidden inside his dark-paneled study, was an inner chamber. A secret place where His Royal Highness, Prince Rintarou of House Suna, could be himself.

Osamu latched the bookcase shut — careful not to let it slam — before turning to face the prince. Rintarou sat on a cushioned bench in front of an open latticed window, leaning slightly with his head propped on a fist.

“What do ya ‘spose would happen if I pushed ya?” Osamu settled down on the seat next to the prince, knees bumping together. He stole a glance out the window and noticed what caught Rintarou’s attention — lit lanterns in the courtyard below and servants bustling about hanging last minute decorations.

“I’ve been watching the palace staff work all day, you know. I don’t think they’d take too kindly to my brains splattered all over the freshly scrubbed cobblestone.” Rintarou’s eyes flicked to Osamu, bearing a tiny, menacing smile. “Not to mention, being a prisoner wouldn’t suit you.”

“No?”

“Any ounce of ruggedly handsome you think you are is offset by that baby face of yours.” Rintarou leaned over and pinched Osamu’s cheek. “Add all the grime and sweat and rotting clothes into the mix and it’s just not a good look.” His hand fell to rest on the bench between them, the tips of his fingers brushing against Osamu’s trouser-covered thigh.

“I see.” Osamu didn’t risk letting his eyes wander from the prince’s face. “So I better wait a few years before I try assassinatin’ ya.” 

“Osamu.” Rintarou withdrew his hand, voice strained and green eyes narrowed. “How about a drink?”

“Very well.” Osamu pushed up off the bench and made several short steps to the cluttered wooden cabinet. On the third shelf — flanked by a teetering pile of dog-eared novels and a display rack of gilded foreign daggers — was a bottle of vintage whiskey. Osamu flicked the topper off and poured a healthy shot of honey gold liquor into two crystalline glasses. “Ah, do you have any…”

Behind him, Rintarou responded. “Second drawer. Should be near the top. Oh, also, make mine a double.”

Osamu crouched, rolling open the drawer in question. Inside were countless tiny enchanted trinkets. A crow skull with its eye sockets embedded with two large garnets. Vials of shimmering liquid in every shade of the rainbow — ranging from vibrant crimson reds and decadent violets to murky blacks whose true splendor was visible only to elves. Figurines carved out of hunks of unpolished semi-precious gems — each representing something Rintarou never bothered to explain.

Finally, he spotted the trinket in question. A small segmented box with four translucent cubes — unmeltable ice crafted by an elven mage and a dwarven enchanter. Osamu split them between the two glasses and poured another shot into the prince’s.

As he replaced the lid on the whiskey, he noticed a painted portrait on the shelf above. It was new, or at least something Rintarou added to his collection recently. A fair skinned woman with short black hair, beautiful dark eyes, and a lovely facial structure. 

“Princess Kanoka of House Amanai.” Rintarou said with a weary sigh. “Youngest daughter of the Queen of Niiyama. Pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, I s’pose.” Osamu said. He appreciated the beauty of women the same way he appreciated particularly colorful sunsets. Luminescent, stunning, gorgeous. Colors splashed across their features in ways no paintbrush could ever capture. But best enjoyed from a distance.

“Inarizaki has never had an alliance with Niiyama before.” Rintarou said as Osamu turned back to face him. “Could be advantageous.”

“Perhaps.” Osamu settled back down on the bench and offered the prince his glass. “Is she attendin’ the ball tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not. Niiyama is quite far away, they received our invitations a bit too late.” Rintarou stared for a long moment at his whiskey before shifting his attention to Osamu. “Take a sip of yours first.”

“So little faith.” Osamu swirled the liquid around in its glass, golden waves crashing against the magical ice. 

Rintarou smiled, never quite reaching his eyes. “It’s nothing of the sort. Who in this world can I trust, if not you?”

“What about Princess Kanoka?” Osamu’s words were dry with just enough bite in them to make the prince’s already weak smile falter. He swirled the whiskey one final time before taking an indulgent sip. Full-bodied with a blend of salty and sweet followed by peat and seaweed. Then, a final, lingering kiss of smoke. “Ah. Whiskey from the North? Ya know me so well, my prince.” 

Rintarou bottomed the glass in two large gulps before setting it on the bench beside him. His gaze shifted to meet Osamu’s, ice cold and narrow. “I invited you here for a reason, Osamu.”

“How many times do we hafta have this conversation? I already said no.” Irritation set in the creases between Osamu’s brows. “I’m not interested in bein’ yer paramour. Fuckin’ me whenever ya want a quick lay. Then retreatin’ back to yer wife.”

If he was anyone else, any other prissy noble, Osamu would’ve been flayed alive for his insolence. Luckily, Rintarou loved him. No matter how foolish and futile that ultimately was.

“I think you may have misunderstood my intentions.” Rintarou’s voice was steady, despite Osamu’s scathing bite. “It’s about the ball tomorrow.” 

Osamu surrendered with a sigh. “Alright. Go on.” 

"This is something no one else can know about, Osamu. Not your brother. Not the rest of the King's Guard. Not the king himself. Do you understand me?" 

Osamu nodded, watching as Rintarou’s long fingers reached for something affixed to his belt. He undid a clasp and — with a practiced flick of the wrist — produced a small knife. A shiny obsidian blade paired with a black and gilded hilt.

Osamu drew his own knife, one considerably less ornate than Rintarou’s. Wyvern bone blade and a simple hilt wrapped in navy leather.

Promise blades. A rudimentary dwarf-enchanted tool that allowed humans to practice simple blood magic. Contracts, bonds, promises. Each one was crafted using a piece of its owner’s body. An ounce of blood, a slice of flesh, a hunk of bone. 

They were fortunate. Both of theirs contained lost baby teeth, buried deep inside the hilt.

“I, Osamu Miya, promise to protect Rintarou Suna.” Osamu whispered, wincing as he sliced the pad of his finger open. 

“I, Rintarou Suna, promise to protect Osamu Miya.” Rintarou responded, carefully cutting his own finger.

They shared a shaky exhale before pressing their pointer fingers together. Twinges of pain intermingled with sharp bursts of unfamiliar magic. Osamu glanced up at Rintarou to see him nibbling at his bottom lip in intense focus. One final pop of magic and then it was over.

“D’ya think it worked?” Osamu pulled back his hand. A simple white scar had already closed the wound and the trails of blood once running down his skin had vanished.

“I’d assume so.” Rintarou exhaled as he put his blade away. He replaced his elbow on the windowsill and propped his head upon his fist again. “Now, regarding tomorrow.”

Osamu tucked his legs beneath him as he reclined opposite the prince. He nodded.

“I’ve caught wind of rumors that there will be an attempt on mine and the king’s lives during the ball.” Rintarou spoke. 

“Ah.” Osamu wasn’t surprised. Inarizaki had been at war longer than he’d been alive and the citizens — nobles, commoners, and servants alike — blamed King Riichi. As a member of the King’s Guard, he’s had to shut down several attempted insurgencies. Everyone, even Osamu, knew it would be best for the nation if King Riichi abdicated in favor of Rintarou. But good luck convincing the king that.

“I’m telling you this because I need your help.” Rintarou stared out the window as the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in pretty shades of pink and orange. Osamu resisted the urge to glance at the portrait of Princess Kanoka on the shelves behind him. “I want you to investigate and root out the would-be assassin.” 

“Surely Knight Commander Ojiro would be better for this task.” Osamu frowned. In fact, it’d be better if the entire guard were made aware of the potential plot. Safety in numbers for the royal family. 

“No.” Rintarou sighed, turning to face Osamu again. “I haven’t trusted the rest of the King's Guard since Sir Oomimi left.” 

“We’ve all made promises to the king.” Osamu thrust his arm out towards the prince, showing a puckered white scar near the inner crook of his elbow. “Oomimi was a special case. Yer father gave him permission to leave.”

Rintarou’s lip curled in disgust. _Father_ was a bit of a touchy word to describe King Riichi around the prince. He too, hasn’t been pleased with his father’s rule. “The clear choice is you.”

“Very well.” Osamu already sealed the blood promise. There was no point further arguing over this. “Do ya have any suspects?”

“Yes, of course.” Rintarou leaned in close, face just a handful of tantalizing centimeters from Osamu’s. A warm breath of air danced over his cheeks as Rintarou spoke. “Four. One Inarizaki nobleman and three foreigners.”

“Tell me what ya know.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Ya look like shit.” Osamu grumbled, attempting and failing to straighten the fur-trimmed cloak draped over Atsumu’s shoulders. The House Miya crest broach meant to keep it pinned to his embroidered doublet had given up — its metal pinback bent in an unnatural position. Only his mask — the gold filigreed fox face indicative of his ancestry — was in decent condition. Osamu licked the tip of his thumb and wiped a smudge off the mask. “Yer the son of a councilman, ya gotta look like it.”

“Yer one too.” Atsumu said, chewing on the inside of his cheek in frustration. “I don’t see ya wearin’ this stuffy bullshit.” 

Osamu took a step back to observe his handiwork. Better, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Atsumu made an utter fool out of himself. At least he can say he tried.

“Yeah, well.” Osamu flicked a leaf off his twin’s shoulder. “I’m not the heir.”

Atsumu had been born lucky — a mere twenty minutes of seniority designated him as heir to the Miya estate and title. One day he would take their father’s place as a royal councilman, though until then he served as a council emissary. 

Many people would look at Atsumu and think he was undeserving of the position — a little too casual and rough around the edges to be a proper nobleman. But none of them knew him the way Osamu did. With a few more years of experience and hard work, Atsumu could turn those people pleasing tendencies into tangible noble acumen.

Better him than Osamu, of course.

“Ya have no idea how fuckin’ lucky ya are, Samu.” Atsumu groaned. “I’d kill to be a King’s Guard. Bein’ the dashin’ hero, savin’ the day. Imagine how many ladies ‘n’ gents of the court’d be all over me.” He cracked a crooked, sharp-toothed grin.

“And that, my dear brother,” Osamu said with a smile and a dripping bite of sarcasm. “Is precisely why ya shouldn’t be one.”

Atsumu made a passing swipe at his twin — forgetting one important detail. His hand clattered against Osamu’s drakescale armored flank and cried out in pain. “Ow! Fuck!”

“I swear, swamp ghouls have more brain cells than you do Tsumu.” Osamu adjusted his own cloak — just a burgundy swathe of silk pinned diagonal across his broad armored chest. It was one of many fashionable baubles meant to ‘soften’ the look of his King’s Guard ceremonial armor. Don’t want to scare the rest of the nobles. Whether it worked was a completely different story. Most eyes forgot about the gleaming metal breastplate and wandered to the bastard sword dangling from his hip instead. “We should get goin’.”

Atsumu offered his silk covered arm and they linked together at the elbows. They walked together in perfect sync towards the gate leading to the vestibule of the palace, offering the milling crowd half smiles. They first debuted at the royal court over fifteen years ago and were now adults with different personalities, but the nobles were still charmed by their twins.

Playing it up for the audience was all part of the game, after all.

Whispers spread throughout the vestibule as they crossed the marble floor towards the ballroom. One of the first things you learn is to pay attention but never dwell on the rumors. Instead, you fashion your skin into diamonds — a beautiful, sparkling facade unable to be broken. Sharp tongues bit into skin as hard — if not harder — than blades in this battlefield.

An usher led them to the grand steps of the ballroom and an announcer stood at the precipice.

“Announcing: The twin sons of Lord Isamu Miya, Earl of Western Inarizaki and councilman to King Riichi.” 

Arms still linked, they stepped down the velvet trimmed staircase.

“Sir Atsumu Miya. Heir of Western Inarizaki and emissary for the King’s Council. Sir Osamu Miya of Western Inarizaki. Noble knight of the King’s Guard.” 

They crossed the ballroom and stopped in front of a raised dais. Before them stood King Riichi, stuffed like a royal peacock into heavy black and burgundy robes. Extensive spun gold embroidery flaunted a hideous display of wealth and power. The exhaustion marring his face was hidden behind the mask of the royal family — carved out of iridescent dragon bone. “It is always a pleasure to have you here in our presence.” The king spoke, voice echoing through the ballroom. “Please enjoy the festivities.”

“Thank you, your highness.” They spoke in unison. A single, well-practiced gesture that always made the nobles in attendance smile in glee. Whispers of _Magic! Telepathy! I knew those boys were elf-blooded!_

To the right of King Riichi, stood the prince. The cut of his clothing was far simpler than most of the court. A black fabric jacket accented with silver embroidery that shimmered under the lantern lights. Cutouts at his shoulders and a plunging v-shaped neckline revealed just enough skin to keep the court talking. “Thank you for coming.” Rintarou spoke, stretching his arms out wide in welcome.

Osamu and his brother bowed at the waist. As they straightened, Osamu caught a curious glint in Rintarou’s eyes — just barely visible behind his own iridescent mask.

_Come talk to me,_ it said.

Osamu let his gaze linger no longer than half a heart beat before joining the crowd with Atsumu. Rintarou had guests to greet still, and they both knew it would be improper to immediately disappear together. He was sure rumors already spread throughout court about their assumed dalliances.

Everyone is watching. 

“Atsumu. Osamu.” A clear, strong voice in the crowd spoke. 

They turned to see Sir Shinsuke, donning dark grey leather finery and a white furred cape. Combined with his similarly colored hair, he resembled an elven snow mage far more than a human noble. Atsumu had long theorized that Shinsuke was elf-blooded. And perhaps he was right — those sharp amber eyes that struck fear into the hearts of men were borderline supernatural.

Flanking him were his retainers — Michinari, an underlordling in service of Shinsuke’s father, and Sir Oomimi, a former knight of the King’s Guard. Michinari had worked for Shinsuke for many years now, but Oomimi had become a recent addition to the Kita household. Many whispers and rumors accompanied his departure, but whatever the truth was, it was locked carefully away.

“It’s goodta see ya, Sir Shinsuke.” Atsumu said as the twins bowed.

“Always a pleasure.” Osamu added. “And hello, Michinari. Ren.”

“Likewise.” Shinsuke’s smile was faint, an expression Osamu knew from experience as displeasure. “And I’ve said this before, please just call me Shinsuke.”

He outranked them both. The Kita family ruled over the entire North — their de facto territory stretching as far as explorers can safely venture. While Shinsuke’s father was still alive, his position as Hand of the King meant he spent the majority of his time in the capital. So in his stead, Shinsuke and his grandmother served as the unofficial Lord and Lady of the North.

By extension, he was rarely in the capital city. Whatever he did up in his family’s stronghold was a mystery and rumors spread like wildfire through the court. A secret plot. A secret army. A secret lover.

“Of course, how could I forget.” Atsumu laughed, waving his hand in exaggeration. 

Osamu turned to face his brother, leaning in to whisper. “Do ya mind fuckin’ off? I wanna chat with Shinsuke.”

Atsumu flashed him a smile more gum than fang — a silent declaration of _fuck you, Samu_ — before bowing to Shinsuke. He disappeared into the crowd, surely searching for someone to charm for the rest of the evening. It was only a matter of time before an unsuspecting innocent found him making out with a foreign dignitary in the wine cellar.

“Michinari. Ren.” He spoke with his most honey-soaked tone of voice. “Would you be ever so kind as to excuse Shinsuke and I? I would like to have a private conversation with him.”

Oomimi opened his mouth to argue but was waved off by Shinsuke. “It’s alright, Sir Osamu is more than capable of takin’ care of me.”

The retainers vanish, though Osamu is sure their eyes still lingered in his direction. With a gentle press of his hand to Shinsuke’s lower back, he led them to an empty balcony. Shinsuke reached up to untie the ribbons tying the mask to his face, letting it fall into his open palm.

That was one thing Osamu appreciated about the Northern lordling. He preferred simple, clear communication and not the overly sweet fangs of the court. Whether he was a liar like the rest of them was still up in the air, but at least he had some semblance of decency.

Osamu propped his elbows on the marble balustrade, staring out at the lake beyond shimmering in dusky purples and oranges. Shinsuke mirrored him, mask tucked beneath an arm. “What did ya want to talk about, Osamu?”

“Have ya heard the rumors?” Osamu spoke. There were no guarantees of safety anywhere, even in a seemingly private place like this.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Shinsuke responded. “Perhaps you should elaborate?”

“I’ve heard whispers that the king is in danger tonight.”

Shinsuke was silent for a long moment before finally offering a response. “When is he not?”

Osamu laughed. “Okay, yer not wrong there.”

“But to answer yer question.” Shinsuke turned to face him, golden eyes shining near-feral in the rising moonlight. Perhaps Atsumu was right and that there was some ounce of elf blood running through the lordling’s body. “I’m afraid I hear very little news from the capital these days, much less rumors such as this. But I shall keep an ear out for ya.”

“Thank ya, my friend.”

Shinsuke smiled, tying his mask back to his face. “And do not worry, I won’t tell Ren and Michinari. Is that all ya wished to discuss?”

“That is all.” Osamu gave him a polite nod. 

“Very well. Save me a dance.” Shinsuke patted him twice on his cloaked shoulder before disappearing back into the ballroom.

Osamu exhaled, leaning his back against the railing.

Suspect Number One:

Sir Shinsuke Kita. Heir of the North. Third in line to the throne of Inarizaki.

Involvement: Inconclusive.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Osamu navigated through the crowd of nobles milling about, though he wouldn’t call it easily. The palace was overflowing with obstacles — most of which being people who wanted to talk to him. A chorus of _Osamu, Osamu!_ every time he tried to shimmy past a group of acquaintances. 

The few conversations he got sucked into were dreadful. 

An old woman — so distantly related to him that she was probably half the court’s granny — confused him for his brother and swooned over the thought of such a Fine Young Man marrying her Beloved Great Granddaughter. He twisted his mouth into an expression as polite and pacifying as he could manage. “Yes ma’am, that would be lovely.”

Cousins yanked him into their gossip circles to whisper cloying nonsense into his ears. Topics ranged from the horrendous outfit Yoriko was wearing to top secret news from the front line. Both sides of his enormous family were present this evening. Western Inarizaki cousins he grew up with and had the pleasure ( _misfortune_ ) of attending school with. Aunties from his mother’s country — recognizing him only by his silver fox mask — who pinched his cheeks, exclaimed they haven’t seen him since he was _this big_ , and asked if he remembered them. He didn’t. He’s twenty-five.

A cluster of old King’s Guard trainees he was in the same class as. Osamu had been the only one to actually make it to the guard. It was for the best. Tonight, they were all buttoned up into their expensive courtly fashion — looking far more comfortable than they ever would’ve in the armor. “Tell us about your exploits, Sir Osamu.” They asked, donning sharp teeth and gleaming eyes.

Exploits.

Osamu scoffed.

As if he hadn’t been in love with the same idiot boy for half his life.

Since the day they first met, receiving their promise blades at one of many coming of age ceremonies they suffered through at age thirteen. Two kids laughing over how ridiculous they looked with not a single care in the world about titles like _your highness_ or _my prince_.

Since he discovered a stack of smuggled novels in the prince’s hidden chamber and spent an afternoon flipping through pages. Learning of wars and friendship and family and love of all varieties. And he wondered if perhaps he was allowed to be in love too.

Since their final hunting trip before their eighteenth birthdays, the two of them long abandoned by their companions. When a foot tripped over a tree branch and they tumbled, landing in a wildflowered clearing. One staring up at the other with dirt in his hair and a flush on his cheeks.

Since the day he accompanied the prince on his first trip to meet a princess in a far-flung nation. Donning guard armor, knuckles white as he gripped his sword, feeling his heart break as the prince smiled and charmed. Finally, painfully, realizing that loving Rintarou would never bring him joy.

“I’m ‘fraid I got nothin’ to tell ya.” Osamu grinned instead. “None of these noble ladies could handle me.”

The trussed up noble idiots laughed like hyenas. “Perhaps little Osamu should go fight in Itachiyama.” One guard dropout proclaimed. “I heard the girls bite.”

How vulgar. 

Osamu held his tongue, brushing them off with a fake laugh. 

After a final dodge of nobles eager for his attention, the path cleared up. Back to Rintarou.

“Took you long enough.” Rintarou sipped from his wine glass as he leaned against a column. “Did you talk to every Inarizaki citizen on your way here?”

“I’m s’posed to be…” Osamu said with a glare, letting Rintarou fill in the blank. 

Rintarou set the wine glass down and wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve. A tiny stain of burgundy bled into the finespun silver embroidery. Hopefully not an omen for the rest of the evening. The prince’s long fingers grasped Osamu’s vambraced forearm. “Come. We’re going to the library.”

“My prince,” Osamu followed, being led deftly through the crowd. Feral eyes concealed behind masks watched their every move. “This is improper.”

Rintarou fumbled with the library keys, grumbling ‘this is improper’ in a flawless mimic of the Inarizaki borderlands accent. A final yank of the arm and he’s dragged inside the darkened room. He could only imagine the cacophony of voices thundering in the ballroom, already weaving tall tales of what the two were doing.

“This is improper, but...” Rintarou whirled around to face him, smiling dangerously. “They can say whatever they want. I’d much rather them think we’re fucking in here than the truth.”

“I can always rely on ya to drag my good reputation through the mud, eh?” Osamu settled into one of the library chairs, armor clanking against the wood.

Rintarou reclined in the chair opposite him and produced a slip of parchment from his pocket. “Well, I suppose that’s unavoidable.” He slid it across the table to Osamu. “But to be fair, half of them thought that already.”

“What’s this?” Osamu ran a finger along the folded creases.

Rintarou leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Bad news.” He gestured a single black lacquered finger toward it.

Osamu nodded and unfolded it. Written across the parchment was a calligraphic script in a language he couldn’t read. Elvish. He skimmed until he reached the end of the presumed letter and saw the messy signature of the king and his official wax seal. He set it back on the table.

“That right there is an invitation sent to none other than my sister.” 

Why on _earth_ would the princess be invited? Or, rather, the _former_ princess.

“What’s it say?” Osamu slid it back in Rintarou’s direction, momentum nearly knocking it off the table.

“Some bullshit about wanting to extend good will to his _beloved_ daughter and her _lover_.” Rintarou’s lips curled into a sneer. 

It’d been half a year since Princess Ryouka was stripped of her titles, her legitimacy, and her right to live in the palace. Osamu still remembers the day it happened. Smoke billowing higher than the tallest tower of the palace as a vicious bonfire burned in an inner courtyard. The princess’s belongings — painted portraits, ornate furniture, luxurious gowns — all incinerated.

She was meant to be the heir to the throne, not Rintarou. But when given the choice between her destiny as the future queen and true love? It was an easy decision. 

Not only was her husband a commoner, but an elf as well. She’d relocated herself — and the few personal trinkets she’d managed to save from the fire — all the way to the southern Inarizaki borderlands. Life in the elven cities wasn’t an easy one by any stretch of the imagination, but they were happy together. Or at least, Rintarou claimed they were.

“Is she here?” Osamu asked.

Rintarou bared his teeth, more of a grimace than a smile. “If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t be worrying right now.” He refolded the letter up and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. “I thought this was going to be cut and dry. That the perpetrator was either Shinsuke or one of the three Itachi nobles.”

“But Ryouka…” Osamu groaned.

“I’ve heard rumors she wants to petition the nobility. To try and get them to convince the king to reinstate her as heir.” Rintarou exhaled a feeble laugh. “The bureaucracy of it all would be horrendous to deal with, however. Murder is much quicker.”

“Doesn’t seem her style.”

With a flick of his wrist, a dagger slid down Rintarou’s jacketed forearm and into his palm. He admired it for a long moment, gliding his finger along the sharp edge, before setting it down on the table. “This was her’s once.” He said. “She might be beloved by nobles and commoners alike for her warm smiles and generous heart. But do not forget she is just as capable as I am in a fight.” 

Osamu had never been too adept at wielding blades. Sure, he could use one in a pinch, but nothing could compare to the elaborate dance Rintarou and his sister had mastered. With an inattentive father too focused on the war effort to actually _be a father_ , Ryouka had taught her brother everything he knew.

“That begs the question, then.” Osamu folded his fingers on the table, leaning forward. “How do we approach this?”

“I, for one, am going to socialize and drink and be a good prince.” Rintarou stretched across the table, as close to Osamu’s face as he could comfortably manage.

“Oh? A good prince? Like yer bein’ now?” He felt his eyes drag down to Rintarou’s smirk. There wasn’t enough wine flowing through his bloodstream to make it a true temptation. But he knew the effect the simple curve of his darkened eyelashes had on the prince.

A sudden wave of sincerity crashed into Osamu as Rintarou looked at him, eyes soft. Fingers brushed skin as a palm cupped his jaw, thumb stroking gentle circles. “You need to be careful out there, Osamu. One wrong step and I lose you.”

“Or I lose you.” Osamu smiled, clasping Rintarou’s wrist in his hand and holding it away from his face. He ran his fingers over the bony planes before brushing against the white scar on Rintarou’s pointer finger. “We’ll protect each other. That was our promise.”

He pressed a soft kiss — just the faintest brush of lips — to Rintarou’s scarred finger before pulling back.

The prince smiled, melancholy and sweet. “Stay as far away from her as possible. She was always a little soft for you but I don’t know how far that’ll get you.” 

Osamu nodded. Keep an eye on her. Trail her if there’s suspicious behavior. But avoid direct confrontation. A quick slice of her blade and he is dead before he has the chance to even draw his sword.

“The other issue is…” Rintarou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “The nobles love my sister. If she was plotting a coup, there’s no telling how many of them have already been conscripted by her.”

“No one out there can be trusted, then.”

“None of the servants, either.” Rintarou patted over his jacket pocket. “She’s always been a staunch supporter of the elves.”

He was too, though he’d never admit it to any of the noble peacocks. As his sister, his educator, his friend, and his proxy parent, she’d passed the majority of her values on to Rintarou. Kindness and desire for justice for all members of Inarizaki society. It’s why he would make a wonderful king some day.

“Rin.” Osamu bit his tongue. Opinions were something that flowed a bit too easy between them — especially ones that shouldn’t be shared with the Crown Prince of Inarizaki. He was never quite sure how long his good graces with Rintarou would last. What word would finally be his inevitable downfall? “Don’t gut me for treason on this one but… shouldn’t we just let her kill ‘im?”

“Ah. Well… as much as I’d like to see…” Rintarou hesitated, not quite letting himself admit the truth he’d accepted long ago. He smiled. “I don’t want to die too.” He turned away, hiding behind the curves of the iridescent dragon bone mask.

Tears pricked at his eyes. 

Osamu didn’t need to see them dripping down Rintarou’s cheeks or pooling along his waterline to know. 

Rintarou stood up, the chair making a loud scrape against the floor. He slipped the dagger back into its sheath hidden under his sleeve and turned away. “Talk to the Itachi nobles. I’ll keep an eye on Shinsuke and Ryouka while you do.”

Osamu nodded, though he knew Rintarou couldn’t see him.

“And Osamu?” Rintarou spared a tiny glance in his direction. In over twelve years of knowing one another, Osamu had learned most of the prince’s facial expressions. Even the minuscule ones tucked close to his chest. 

_I love you_ , it said. 

Then he was gone, slipped through the grand oaken doors of the library back into the ballroom.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Their invitations to the Inarizaki Independence Day masquerade ball had been the talk of the court for over half a month now. Finally _something_ managed to usurp Lady Emiha’s fashion faux pas during her wedding that spring. Osamu had gotten quite tired of overhearing nobles chittering about how much of an insult wearing a white dress in a dwarven wedding was.

They were the three Noble Sons of Itachiyama. Elven cousins whose country had been sworn enemies with Inarizaki for decades. Hundreds of peace talks between the two have fallen through. Each marred by assassinations, backstabbings, nobles sent back to the capital frozen solid in a block of magic ice.

The very same country that recently had their king assassinated. An order sent by the same overstuffed royal peacock that stood at the dais this evening.

Osamu wasn’t too fond of the idea of investigating the three. When it came to his primary suspects, he’d much rather tango with Shinsuke or even Ryouka than throw his lot into the ring with the Itachiyama nobles.

Shinsuke was some manner of fox. Cleverness masked by wit and politeness. Ryouka, a lone wolf. Solitary, minded her own business but would strike with viciousness if provoked.

Three high-blooded elven nobles descended from the same ancient magic family? That was completely alien territory. Like leaping into a pit of vipers and praying to the gods they’re not the venomous kind.

As he crossed the ballroom, Osamu caught sight of the first. Unmistakable by his long, sharp ears and an almost fae-like face. Sir Motoya Komori, nephew of the now deceased king. From Rintarou’s unfortunately curt briefing on the three cousins, Osamu knew Motoya to be a talented diplomat. Ambassador to Fukurodani, another elven nation but one on significantly better terms with Inarizaki.

Perhaps most notably, Motoya was a known flirt. He possessed a talent for weaseling his way into conversations, into circles of trust, and into trousers. 

_He’s unlikely to spill any secrets, but you could always try seducing him,_ Rintarou told him the night before. Spoken with that sharp-toothed grin of his. Daring Osamu to try it. 

Osamu wasn’t planning on it. But, well, the night’s still young.

He watched as Motoya finished his conversation — perhaps he’d decided that the three cloying noblewomen before him weren’t worth bedding — before twirling away in an exaggerated flourish. Flawlessly playing the game, taking that which made him different and setting it on a pedestal to shock and entertain. An elf in the court of Inarizaki, as dolled up and graceful as the human nobles who populated it.

Motoya blew kisses at the noblewomen, fluttering his ringed fingers and eyelashes with sweetness. Then, after plucking a fluted glass off a butler-wielded tray, he slipped into the shadows — seemingly disappearing into the ether.

_Would not be surprised if he’s gotten bard training,_ Rintarou’s words echoed in Osamu’s head. 

The average elven bard mage could manage no more than eight seconds of invisibility. Which meant, based on where Motoya disappeared, there were only two possible places he could be. Osamu eyed the crowd across the ballroom. Nothing.

Which meant…

“Hello, gorgeous.” A voice behind him, accented in an unfamiliar lilt.

Osamu turned, meeting Motoya’s catlike blue eyes. An easy smirk graced his lips. His clothing was monochromatic — whites, greys, and blacks — woven together with magic to give it a pearlescent shimmer. Sleeveless, cut in such a way that the edges traced and revealed hints of defined chest muscles.

“Couldn’t help but notice you staring. Consider getting a portrait commissioned.” Motoya stepped closer, brushing a hand over Osamu’s bicep. His eyelids drooped low, gaze sweeping up and down. “It’ll last longer.” He snapped his teeth, a brief flash of annoyance before shifting back to nonchalance.

“Lord Komori, it’s a pleasure to meet’cha.” Osamu bowed his head. Motoya was low on his People I Should Definitely Piss Off list. Mages were nothing to trifle with, especially ones capable of bringing your entire country down with a single whisper into a kingling’s ear.

“‘Meet’cha,’ fascinating.” Motoya tapped his chin theatrically. “I’m afraid we’re at a disadvantage here. You know who I am, but I cannot say the same. Let’s remedy that, shall we?”

“Sir Osamu Miya. Son of Earl Isamu Miya. King’s Guardsman.”

Motoya smiled, seemingly genuine but Osamu knew better. “How very cute. No wonder you’re dressed like that.” He downed his flute of champagne, stared at the empty glass for half a heartbeat, before incinerating it. Bits of melted glass dripped to the floor, crystallizing immediately — but not before leaving tiny scorch marks into the fancy rug. "Was thinking armor was a little crude for such a lovely celebration."

Motoya's ringed fingers fiddled with the burgundy cloak swathed over Osamu's chest, feral blue eyes sweeping up to meet stormy grey. "Crude? Yer ceremonial armor back home must be made from solid dragonbone if this is considered crude."

"Absolutely precious you are." Motoya laughed. "Say, Osamu. I'm curious." He grasped one of Osamu's hands, touches light and airy as he traced the planes and swirled around his knuckles. “I can think of two reasons why a handsome and clever guardsman such as yourself would be looking for me with such intent."

Motoya leaned in closer, lips brushing Osamu's ear. "One. You believe I have come here on false pretenses and am involved in dangerous machinations." A shiver ran down the base of Osamu's spine as the tiniest sliver of teeth brushed over the shell of his ear. "Two. I have caught your eye."

"It is a lovely view." Osamu whispered, turning his head a fraction of an inch. The tips of Motoya's long ears twitched as a smile grew on his face.

"Good." Motoya drew back just slightly — enough for them to lock eyes. His sharp gaze was narrow, calculating. "I am many things, but to betray a host is a crime most sinister against the gods." He brushed his hand over Osamu's engraved breastplate, rings clattering against metal. "Why don't we get you out of this armor?" A finger half-heartedly fiddled with one of the straps tying his pauldrons down. "Your king has so graciously lent me chambers as part of his kind invitation. They are not far."

“I’m afraid I am spoken for.” Osamu replied, feeling his thoughts shift to Rintarou. A half-hearted wish of a lie. “But it’s not a crime to gaze upon the splendors of the court.”

“A married man?” Motoya laughed. The fingers still clasping Osamu’s hand massaged his digits. “But no ring? Does your lovely wife know you’re here?”

“Of course, I didn’t come alone.” Osamu leaned to pluck a flute of champagne off a butler’s tray. “My dear’s prob’ly off tuckin’ into their fourth round of alcohol and tellin’ wild tales.” 

Or, well. Osamu certainly hoped. 

It unsettled him to be this far from Rintarou’s side, especially knowing the sinister truth lurking below the ball’s fanciful surface. The perpetrator could strike at any moment. He could lose his best friend — the person he loves the most in this world — without the chance to even say goodbye. 

But at the same time, Rintarou was in the safest part of the palace — all eyes trained on him and his father. He was surrounded by King’s Guardsmen and many combat trained nobles. And Rintarou was more than capable of protecting himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but worry.

“Well.” Motoya whispered into his ear. “From one man of discerning taste to another — if you find yourselves looking for a third this evening, you know where to find me. I’ll take good care of you both.”

Then, with a flourish of his ringed fingers and a snap, Motoya disappeared back into the shadows.

Suspect Number Two:

Lord Motoya Komori. Son of the Hand of the Itachiyama King. Ambassador to Fukurodani.

Involvement: Likely Innocent.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Sir?”

Osamu downed his glass of champagne before turning to face the source of the voice. An elven butler, dressed in simple clothing and wielding eyes as big as plates. There was a single glass on her tray, empty of all liquid but instead stuffed with a folded piece of parchment and a small dark object.

“Yes, is everythin’ alright?” He furrowed his brows, holding steady eye contact.

“Of course.” She bowed her head, flush high on her cheeks. Osamu wanted to frown — how many people have shown her cruelness tonight? “Uh, um. Sorry. This is a message from His Royal Highness.” She presented him the tray.

“Thank ya very much.” He nodded, plucking the glass off the tray. “If anyone gives ya any trouble, please come find me.”

“Y-yes sir.” She bowed again before retreating.

Osamu examined the glass, holding in front of his face. _None of the servants, either,_ is what Rintarou warned him not an hour earlier. He glanced up and found his eyes locked with those of the very servant who delivered it. Her ears twitched before she scurried away back towards the kitchens.

Curious.

He returned to the glass, finally identifying what the dark object was. A key. He plucked it out and tucked it between his teeth as he unfolded the slip of parchment.

_Dear esteemed guest,_

_It brings me great pleasure to have you attend our celebrations this evening. I hope you find everything suitable to your discernable tastes. As I am incredibly busy greeting my guests, I am unable to meet with you at this moment. But as a token of my friendship, please accept this key. You know where it is meant to lead._

_Sincerely,_

_Prince Rintarou Suna_

Osamu’s gaze drifted to the lower left corner of the parchment. There were two tiny drawings — one a harlequin face in golden ink and the other, a fox head in red.

One of their many hidden codes.

Golden harlequin. Atsumu. Red fox. Danger.

Careful to conceal the movement from the nobles milling around him, Osamu slipped his promise blade out from its sheath on his belt. Blood welled up from the tiniest of slices on his pinky finger, before he smeared it over the two drawings.

Blood magic kicked in as the letters on the page scrambled and shifted. Words rearranged themselves and transmuted into Rintarou’s true message.

_Osamu,_

_Destroy this as soon as you read it. My wonderful father has kept me on a tight leash after our assumed romantic foray in the library, so I haven’t been able to make it back to you. I am safe for now. What is concerning, however, is the fact that Atsumu hasn’t been seen in several hours. The key will get you into the guest wing. Be prepared for a fight._

_Yours,_

_Rin_

Osamu dumped the parchment into a brazier, the fire sparking and crackling blue-green as it obliterated the magic spell. He bobbed and weaved through the crowd. Luckily passing through far easier than before — the entire court was focused on the ballroom floor and the five graceful couples in ancient regalia performing a traditional dance.

He slipped into the trophy room — filled with massive taxidermied beasts and only a few lingering nobles too transfixed by their conversations to pay him any mind. Then, it was out a massive blue-painted door and down a marble staircase into a courtyard — full of lush greenery, despite winter’s swift approach. Nobles wasted the talents of their mage servants on the most foolish things sometimes.

“Osamu? Is that you? Hey!”

Osamu whirled around to see a familiar face leaning against the side of the stairs, mask off and a pipe of tobacco tucked in his mouth.

“Gin, hey.”

“Guessin’ yer tryna get a break from all that nonsense in there, huh?” Gin gestured at the narrow, stained-glass windows above them.

"Ya could say that." Osamu felt his fingers twitch. He enjoyed talking to his fellow guardsman in the best of times, but this was certainly not the best of times. "Say, Gin, I hate to cut this short but I’m actually lookin’ for my brother. Have ya seen him?”

"Atsumu?" Gin asked almost entirely too sincerely, as if Osamu — god forbid — had _another_ brother. "Nah. If he came this way, it wasn't in the last…" Gin took a cursory glance at the watch tied to his scabbard. "Twenty minutes."

"Have ya seen anythin' or anyone at all?"

Gin took a long drag of his pipe before exhaling spindly tendrils of pale smoke. "Yeah, one of the Itachi guys. Tall one, black hair. Had a woman with him, she didn't look familiar so prob'ly another foreigner."

Either Issei or Kiyoomi. Less than ideal.

“Alright, good t’ know. Thanks Gin.” They waved goodbye and Osamu slipped around the corner, waiting until he was out of view of his coworker before he ran. His feet clattered against the cobblestones as he picked up speed heading towards the guest wing.

The guest wing door was massive — carved from petrified wood and inlaid with silver. And locked. The door latched itself, so only those with keys and the right to stay or work in the guest wing could access it.

Osamu didn’t bother to try the key. He already knew it wasn’t the right one. _You know where it is meant to lead._ The one part of the still coded message that was relevant. Flanking the door were two massive white lattices intertwined with ivy. Praying that no beady eyes were watching him through slivered windows, he gripped the lattice and climbed.

He and Rintarou had done this hundreds of times before. Teenagers sneaking off from countless meetings and trainings to slip into their secret hideaway filled with darkened hallways and vacant rooms. 

Golden summer afternoons wasted away on a balcony. Laughter as they flip through battered books, dramatically reading aloud the naughty bits. Knees hugged close to chests, pinkies linked together, eyes cast low as they talked about the future. Glances at pink, smiling lips that never led to fruition no matter how much they fantasized. 

Osamu shimmied along the window sills, leaping from one to the next. Two. Three. Four. Five windows until finally, the sixth was cracked open. He grinned to himself as he pried it open enough to slip through.

It was a rarely used storage room nestled between two guest apartments. He’s hit with the familiar horrendous smell of cedar wood and lavender — a feeble attempt to keep the copious amounts of ancient bedding fresh. But to Osamu, it just reminded him of hiding from a palace guard as kids. He and Rintarou squeezed behind a stack of quilts, desperately trying not to giggle.

Inside the storage room were three locked doors. The main one led out to an ornate marble-and-burgundy hallway. The other two led directly into the guest apartments. 

He fished the key out of the pouch on his hip. _You know where it is meant to lead._

The key was poached from a servant’s belt a decade ago. Rintarou’s handiwork, of course. He knew this door like the back of his hand by now. Lock’s a bit sticky. Gotta jiggle it a few times. Then, unlocked. Osamu was in.

Now, Atsumu.

He clutched the hilt of his sword, taking off in a sprint through the rooms of the guest apartment — his path lit only by the shreds of moonbeams shining through the windows.

_Issei or Kiyoomi. Issei or Kiyoomi. Issei or Kiyoomi._ His brain yelled every single time his boots hit the floor.

_Tsumu could already be—_

There’s a scream. A woman’s voice. Osamu ran faster.

As he rounded the corner, he discovered a door cracked open, shimmers of light dancing along the hallway floor. He slid the sword from its sheath, careful not to make a sound. Its heft was comfortable in Osamu’s palm as he pressed the door open with his other hand.

The woman noticed him first, her eyes going wide in fear as she struggled to speak. She was floating — suspended in air by a shimmering disembodied black hand gripping her throat.

“Hmm? What do you see, dear?” The elf in front of her asked dryly, his back broad, hair a curly black and his arms akimbo. He shifted his head just enough to see Osamu enter the bedroom, narrow dark eyes emotionless. “Wait your turn, can’t you see I’m busy?”

Before Osamu had the chance to react, the disembodied hand tightened — crushing the noblewoman’s throat. Her body fell with an echoing slump against the cold marble tile.

“Lord Issei Matsukawa.” Osamu raised his sword, feet shifting into a fight stance. “Yer under arrest for—”

Issei turned to face him, mouth curved into a lazy scowl. “Put your blade down, little guard.”

“Murder of a noblewoman and—”

“No, really. Shut up and come here.” He waved his hand, beckoning Osamu closer. He stared at Osamu for a long moment, before glancing down at the body. A stretch of leg — exposed by the cut of her dress — was morphing into the same shimmering black as the disembodied hand. “Ah. I suppose this isn’t very trustworthy.”

Osamu stood his ground. “You can explain yerself with me standin’ right here.”

Issei smiled, eyes holding steady the same emotionless, almost calculating gaze. “Very well.” He nudged the woman’s head with the toe of his heeled boot. Her long black hair was knocked loose, revealing a short chestnut brown crop. “She’s not a noblewoman, but rather an impersonator. An assassin.”

“An assassin?” Osamu took a step closer, leaning over the body looking for any semblance of identification. “Who sent her?”

“Aoba Johsai.”

“ _Aoba Johsai?_ ” Was Issei bullshitting him? They and Inarizaki weren’t allies by any stretch of the imagination, but they were at very least on neutral terms. “And ya killed her?! This is a serious matter. If Aoba Johsai is tryna kill Ki—”

“Little guard.” Issei folded his black clothed arms over his chest. “What this is, is a _personal_ matter.”

“What?” 

“Trust me, Mayuri here couldn’t care less about your kingdom.” The black shimmer had overtaken her entire leg and began to spread to her chest. “She was sent to kill me. This is an issue between Itachiyama and Aoba Johsai. You have no jurisdiction here.”

Issei fiddled with a bag tied to his belt, chuckling when he saw Osamu’s sword rise again. He produced a tiny bottle, waving it dead-eyed in front of his face. “A super dangerous _vial._ Put that thing away. You’ll poke an eye out.”

Osamu reluctantly sheathed his blade, keeping a hand on it just in case. He watched as Issei knelt down next to the dead assassin — her skin nearly completely covered. He murmured a few words in Elvish, then paused before tendrils of inky black flowed into the vial as her body vanished. 

Issei’s ears twitched as he capped the bottle. He rubbed it between his palms several times, whispering more words in Elvish. “I assume your dear prince told you about what I’m capable of, yes?” He pressed a gentle kiss to the cap before tucking it into his belt bag.

“Necromancy. Death magic.” 

“Yes.” Issei used his foot to push the remaining evidence the woman was ever there into a small pile — her dress, shoes, and the long black wig. “So yeah, I definitely killed her but… this isn’t the first time. Probably not the last if we’re being honest with each other, Sir Osamu.”

He didn’t recall telling Issei his name, but there were more pressing questions. “Not the first time?”

“My beloved recently became my _formerly_ beloved. He wasn’t too happy about that. Never is.” Issei shrugged. “It’s just a fun game, I suppose. I break up with him. He sends Mayuri after me. I kill her. She’s reanimated. We get back together. Repeat ad infinitum.”

“He?”

Issei laughed, sharp and startling. “I forget how backwards you humans are sometimes.”

“Ain’t mean any offense, ‘pologies.” Osamu bowed his head.

“Nope.” Issei dragged out the vowel and spit out a loud pop. “I know you didn’t. I know just who you are, Osamu Miya. King’s Guard inspector. Bodyguard _and_ lover of the prince.”

"That's—"

Have those rumors _really_ spread all the way to the court of Itachiyama? Don’t they have anything more pressing to murmur about?

"You're not the only one keeping an eye on the festivities this evening." Issei grinned, teeth sharp and predator eyes gleaming. “Speaking of, I’m assuming you didn’t come to this part of the palace for me.”

“No, my—”

“Of course, your brother. Atsumu.” Issei put his hands on his hips, brows raising and a smirk gracing his lips. “He’s safe, if that was your concern. You can search for him if you’d like, but I don’t think you’ll enjoy your discovery.”

“Tell me.” Osamu’s brows furrowed.

Issei bridged the gap between them, using his height advantage to loom over Osamu. His face was deadly serious until it broke into a sinister grin. “Look. You seem like an alright guy, Osamu so let me be honest with you. You _really_ don’t want to go.” He leaned in close, long black lashes a mere hair’s breadth away from Osamu’s ear. “He and my darling baby cousin are… busy. If you catch my drift.”

Oh.

_Oh._

"Oh." He responded. “Ew.”

"Careful, Osamu." Issei brought a thumb to his forehead, rubbing it along the crease between Osamu’s eyebrows. “You’re going to have terrible wrinkles someday if you keep making that face.” Issei patted him on the shoulder.

"Well… er…"

"You're welcome. Have a nice evening, little guard." Issei sent him a lazy grin before slipping out the door, leaving Osamu standing alone in the guest apartment feeling like a useless idiot.

_Fucker just walked all over me._

_And I let him._

Suspect Number Three:

Lord Issei Matsukawa. Son of the commander of the Itachiyama military.

Involvement: Certainly not innocent, but is for the crime at hand

Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose.

Suspect Number Four:

Prince Kiyoomi Sakusa. King of Itachiyama, yet to be crowned.

Involvement: Disgustingly has an alibi

  
  


* * *

  
  


Osamu bit his tongue as he slipped back out the storage room window and onto the sills. How many hours of the evening has he wasted? Chasing Rintarou’s clues and hints and suspects and for what? To find out his brother and the fucking future King of Itachiyama are… well… fucking.

Frustration set between his brows. No evidence. No idea who was plotting the assassination attempt.

Rintarou is going to die, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

The best he can do is get back to the ballroom and pray he isn’t too late.

He’s paused in a crouch on the final window sill, lattice stretching beneath him, when he hears distant voices. They’re around the corner, near where he and Gin talked earlier. Careful to stay hidden on the high ground, Osamu shimmied along the gutter of the courtyard roof until he was closer.

Four men had gathered in the courtyard below. He couldn’t get a good look at them — at least not without risking his position and being discovered.

“Shinsuke.”

Osamu’s breath hitched. He recognized that voice.

Deep and smooth. Admirable and kind. Comforting, like your favorite meal after a hard day at work. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders on a cold night such as this. A voice always accompanied by blindingly white teeth and crinkled eyes.

“Aran, I know.” Shinsuke sighed, loud enough that Osamu could hear it from his perch. “But you know I have no desire t’ stay here in the capital. My place is in the North, carrying out my responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” Aran scoffed. “Yer the worst noble I’ve ever met and I know Atsumu.”

Osamu wondered if the earth had stopped spinning. Or if every planet in the solar system aligned in a once-in-a-lifetime astronomical event. Or perhaps he accidentally walked through a magic portal into an alternate reality.

Shinsuke laughed.

Breathy, as soft as rain.

“Maybe so.” Shinsuke said. “Y’know me more than anybody. The masks, the webs of secrets, the dishonesty. Nothin’ about it is good ‘n’ true. Fair or just. My responsibilities aren’t those of a noble. They’re those of a man trying to live an honest life.”

“Well.” Aran said, his voice softer. Honey stirred into Earl Grey. “Ya might be shit at being a noble, but at least yer a proper leader.”

“Thank you, Aran.” There was a rustle of boots against cobblestones and the flutter of fabric.

“Still, I wish ya weren’t leavin’ the capital after tonight. It’s a dangerous world out there. I wish I could be by yer side.”

“Just like my responsibilities are to the North, yours are to the capital.” Shinsuke spoke. “Ren takes good care of me. I appreciate ya assignin’ him to protect me.”

Assignin’?

Oomimi’s low voice murmured something unintelligible and Michinari laughed.

_Assignin’?_

Aran sighed. “Well, Ren is my second best man. If I can’t be with ya, I’m glad he can.”

Osamu craned forward, trying to get a better glimpse of the four men. Aran and Shinsuke stood close to each other with Michinari and Oomimi offset. Presumably keeping watch in case a drunkard stumbled into the courtyard or some other harm threatened Shinsuke.

Shinsuke smiled, disgustingly soft. Again, surely something was wrong with the universe because he couldn’t recall a single time in twenty-five years where he saw Shinsuke smile so genuinely.

Aran leaned forward to whisper something in Shinsuke’s ear, earning another rain soft laugh. Hands snaked behind necks and foreheads pressed together.

A kiss. Short and sweet.

Oomimi’s gaze scanned around the courtyard and Osamu ducked back into hiding before the guard could detect him.

_Holy shit._

“Come north soon, Aran.” Shinsuke spoke. “It’s cold without you.”

“I will be there, as soon as I am able.” Aran said.

There were some more faint murmurs from Oomimi, before Aran sighed.

“Ren’s right. They’re gonna notice we’re missing soon.” Aran said.

“Until next time, then.” Shinsuke said, voice sullen. Another long pause, one Osamu imagined was filled with the tender press of lips.

“Until next time. I love you.” 

Shinsuke made a sound of agreement.

Footsteps thumped over the cobblestones of the courtyard. The voices of the four men faded away as they climbed the stairs leading back to the trophy room. The big wooden door swung shut with a low thunk.

"Knight Commander Ojiro?" Osamu mumbled to himself. "And fucking… Lord Shinsuke."

It was strange, realizing he wasn't alone in his pain. An ache in his chest both excruciating and comforting. 

Loving someone you shouldn't.

But unlike him, they made it work. They found a way. 

_Yer a fuckin’ coward._

Osamu clambered back along the roof, brain running a mile a minute. He slid down the lattice with practiced ease, boots hitting grass.

_I hafta go find him._

He turned down Rintarou all those years ago. Forced their relationship into a more-than-platonic, less-than-romantic limbo that made them both miserable.

Rintarou was meant to get married. Find a princess who would one day rule by his side as queen. Have children and continue the family line. Osamu would be relegated to life as a lover, a paramour. It would never make him happy.

But never giving himself permission to love Rintarou was a far worse prospect.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Osamu! Hey, Osamu! Osamu? Come here!_

_Are ya comin’ to yer cousin’s comin’-of-age ceremony? Come give yer auntie a hug, darlin’! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!_

“Sorry, I need to go see the prince.” Osamu mumbled on repeat as he dodged nobles and relatives vying for his attention. Their gazes burned hot against the skin of his face as they watched him navigate through the ballroom. Whispers as loud as a raging waterfall.

He didn’t care about their game anymore. Their measured falsehoods. Their honey-coated barbed tongues.

Damn them all.

He reached the dais, breath ragged. Neither the prince nor the king were there.

_Shit._

"Osamu!" Through all the muddled voices and panic swirling inside his head, Gin’s voice rang loud and clear. He stood guard near the dais, hand resting on his sword.

“Where’s Rin— Where’s the prince?”

Gin laughed. “What’s yer rush? They’re in the study.” He gestured to the door behind the dais. “Havin’ a chat of some sort.”

Osamu exhaled. “I need to see him.”

“Well, don’t lemme stop ya.” Gin gestured to the closed door. “Just don’ come cryin’ to me if they kick ya out.”

Osamu nodded, sidestepping Gin and pushing open the door. The study was empty, but beyond he could see the king and Rintarou standing face to face on the balcony.

“Rintarou, this is foolish.” The king’s voice was reminiscent of a blade dragging along gravel. Harsh, unpleasant, painful. The exhaustion must finally be kicking in.

“No.” Rintarou bared his teeth, snapping them in defiance. “What’s foolish is this fucking joke you dare call a kingdom.”

It was hardly unusual to see them arguing, they’d long abandoned their roles as father and son. Colleagues. Co-workers. Boss and Employee. King and Prince. Nothing more, nothing less. Rintarou typically had a little more tact, but the stress of the evening was surely getting to him.

“You think that poorly of me?” The king made a choked sound. “Enough to…” He coughed.

Something’s wrong.

“Kill you?” Rintarou growled, jerking his arm back. Clutched in his black lacquered fingers was his sister’s dagger, coated in a slick sheen of red. The king slumped to the floor.

“Rintarou!” Osamu shouted, his legs carrying him across the study.

Rintarou whirled to face him, eyes glowing bestial and flashing with anger. His hand on the blade gripped it tighter, ready to strike. Then, recognition. His grimace softened into a wan smile, eyebrows relaxing. “Osamu.”

“I…” Osamu’s brain was empty and full simultaneously. Overflowing with alternating, confused screams of _I love you, too_ and _How could you?!_ He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“You have to understand.” Rintarou wiped the blade on the king’s robes, blood only slightly darkening the already burgundy fabric. He stared at the body for a long moment, stole a glance over the edge of the balcony. As if imagining _maybe I could push him over_. Just let the king’s body fall to the ground below. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“Yer own father?” Osamu whispered.

“He hasn’t been my father for a long time.” Rintarou smiled, eyes dark in melancholy. He tucked his sister’s dagger into his belt in order to fish out his promise blade. Obsidian ran over his palm and he let out a pained gasp as blood flooded to the surface. He outstretched his arm, letting blood drip onto the body. “If ever.”

Rintarou stared at his palm for a long moment, watching the skin bind back together into a snaking white scar. He glanced up to meet Osamu’s gaze, noticing the confusion settled between his brows. “It’s an obfuscation spell. No one will be able to see this body for eight hours.” His eyes returned to the scar on his palm. “But when those eight hours are over, they will know for sure it was me.”

Magic comes at a price, especially to those not meant to wield it.

Rintarou sidestepped his father’s body to come close to Osamu. His eyebrows had raised, mouth pursed into a thin line, and palms outstretched in feigned innocence.

“Everythin’ I did tonight.” Osamu turned away. Couldn’t bring himself to meet Rintarou’s eye. “It was a distraction.”

Rintarou’s hand met his shoulder. He felt that blade sharp green stare burn into his skin. “I knew you’d try to stop me. Even though we both know it was what needed to be done.”

Osamu felt something snap in his head. "Do ya have any fuckin' idea what you've just done?! I have to arrest ya."

Rintarou’s face morphed, a sudden thunderclap in a mid-summer squall. He bared his teeth, shoving Osamu against the wall. “You’ll do no such thing.” One hand gripped his shoulder, sharp nails digging through his gambeson. The other pressed an icy obsidian blade against his throat. “I am leaving Inarizaki of my own free will.”

Osamu opened his mouth to respond, but the dagger pressed harder — the sharp edge uncomfortably close. “Rin… let me speak.” He choked out.

Rintarou’s gaze flicked to his throat then back to his eyes. He swiped his tongue over his teeth and loosened his grip.

“Where will ya go?” Osamu exhaled hard.

The blade pressed close again, Rintarou narrowing his eyes. “Itachiyama.” His gaze drifted to Osamu’s mouth. “I planned on bringing you with me, but… I see now that’s a fantasy. I don’t want to kill you, Osamu. But you have to let me go.”

Osamu craned his head, the blade edge pressing into his skin. Not enough pressure to puncture but a single slip and it’s over. Trust. “Rintarou, I came here to tell you I wanna be with ya.” His eyes drifted to Rintarou’s parted lips, soaking in the thousands of emotions in that distinct expression. “I… I s’pose, whatever bein’ with ya entails.”

There’s a clatter as the blade collided against the floor. Rintarou pressed forward, lips surging down to meet Osamu’s. Selfish and ravenous. All wine flavored lips and bloody sharp teeth. Fingers sinking into hair, pressing Osamu further into Rintarou’s mouth. “Samu.” He whispered between kisses. “Samu.”

Osamu brushed his hand over the flat plane of Rintarou’s chest, dipping his fingers beneath the neckline of the black and silver jacket. Nails gently raked over the sensitive soft skin of Rintarou’s collarbones.

He pulled back from the kiss, face hot as he watched the saliva stretching between their lips snap. Rintarou’s mouth found Osamu’s neck, fingers fumbling for the clasps of his breastplate. “Rin. Stop.” Osamu struggled to breathe, feeling a shiver at the base of his spine. “Please.”

Rintarou peppered gentle kisses along his jawline before pulling back. His eyes flashed with hurt confusion for a brief moment before realization dawned. He glanced at the body still on the balcony. “Ah.” He laughed. “We should… uh… probably leave as soon as we can. Even though they can’t see the body, they’re gonna realize he’s missing soon.”

“Please tell me ya have a plan.”

“Do you think so little of me?” Rintarou grinned, releasing his hold on Osamu. “I give the signal and Lord Motoya makes a scene. It’ll be a distraction just big enough for us to slip away from the ballroom.”

“How didja manage to get him on yer side?” Osamu’s gaze drifted to Rintarou’s hand, fingers twitching with desire. 

“I’ve been secretly corresponding with Issei since we were children. I warned him about their king’s assassination before it happened. They couldn’t stop it in time, but they were still willing to help orchestrate my father’s.”

“What about Inarizaki? Our home?” Osamu asked. “Yer just gonna let the crown fall to Lord Kita? After what I discovered tonight, Shinsuke is not gonna be happy ‘bout that.”

Rintarou’s eyebrows raised. Ah, so finally Osamu knew something Rintarou didn’t. “Alright, you’re gonna have to spill the details later. However…” Rintarou grinned, producing a slip of parchment from his jacket pocket. He unfolded it and held it in front of Osamu’s eyes.

A last will and testament. 

He scanned it until he reached the final line, the ink dry but still shiny and fresh.

_I, King Riichi of House Suna, declare that my daughter's legitimacy to the throne shall be restored. She will inherit my kingdom and my estate._

"How in the gods' green earth didja manage that?" Rintarou left the will on the desk.

"I told him about us." Rintarou said. "How I planned to abdicate my princehood so I could be with you."

_So I could be with you._

Osamu's heart ached. He wished Rintarou hadn't had to go through such extremes just for them to be together. He wished _he_ hadn't had to go through such extremes just for them to be together.

"Turns out he'd rather have my sister's future elf-blooded kids inherit the throne than let it fall into Lord Kita's hands." He laughed.

“Like I said, Shinsuke would hate bein’ king.” Osamu said as Rintarou pressed his hand against the small of his back, leading him forth to the ballroom door.

They paused, sharing a long glance. Rintarou slipped his fingers between Osamu’s, squeezing gently. “Look, Osamu.” Rintarou rested his palm against the door. “We go out that door, there’s no turning back. This is your last chance to forget about me, about tonight, about us.”

“Whatever bein’ with ya entails.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Rintarou stepped onto the ballroom dais and stood tall and straight. Despite committing patricide no less than ten minutes earlier, he was the picture of an ideal prince. “I hope everyone in attendance is enjoying the evening!” His voice boomed throughout the ballroom, a marvel in architectural engineering. “I am retiring for the evening, however the celebration is far from over. To kick off the remaining festivities, we have a very special guest!” He paused for a healthy second. “Lord Motoya Komori of Itachiyama.” He spread his arms out wide.

The elf appeared, slipping out of invisibility. The court gasped with glee, eager to observe the impromptu magic show. “Hello everyone! It is an honor to be here tonight with you all. You really must thank His Royal Highness for inviting me this evening.” He gestured back to Rintarou who gave the crowd a wave and a pleasant smile.

“Thank you, my friend.” Rintarou whispered, just loud enough for Osamu and Motoya to hear.

“Safe travels.” Motoya murmured. He directed his attention back to the ballroom and began to show off his various mage abilities. His showman-like voice echoed through the hall as he introduced each spell. Flames that danced over fingertips. Ice cold enough to freeze a man solid but not kill him. Magic infused songs that lulled half the audience into a blissful trance.

Rintarou gripped Osamu’s vambraced arm and pulled him, bumping into nobles as they weaved through the crowd. 

“I’m heading back to my quarters.” Rintarou announced to the guard standing watch at the vestibule door. The guard nodded and pushed the door open. It slammed behind them, sound echoing through the massive, empty room.

“Where are we goin’?” Osamu whispered.

“Servants’ quarters, then we can be free.” They strolled past the guards standing watch at the front door of the vestibule, feigning innocence. Around the corner into a long corridor devoid of people — filled only with fancy woven rugs, statues of long dead kings, and a grand staircase leading to the royal apartments.

The servants’ quarters could be accessed from a small door beneath the staircase, a winding path through a simple stone hallway — a stark contrast to the rest of the gilded palace. Past chambers full of sleeping servants bathed in hearthlight, darkened storage rooms, and finally to the kitchen.

Osamu made late night forays down here countless times — pilfering bread and tarts from trays while the servants pretended not to notice. As they slipped into the homely room, the servants stepped aside and bowed. A woman emerged from one of the pantries, both arms draped in a black and fur cloak.

She shrouded Rintarou’s shoulders and upper body in the thick cloak, clasping it over his chest and pulling the hood up to conceal his recognizable fluffy brown hair. Then, repeated the motions draping the second cloak onto Osamu. Immediately he’s overtaken by comforting warmth.

“Thank you for your help everyone.” Rintarou bowed, voice faltering ever so slightly. Osamu doubted anyone noticed except for him. “Let’s go, Osamu.”

Rintarou led him into one of the pantries. Inside was a sturdy wooden door with several massive padlocks and a handprint-shaped magic seal. A delivery door — one of the few exits in the palace that isn’t under the all seeing gaze of guards. Rintarou fished a ring of keys out of his pocket and got to work on the padlocks. Then, with another slice of his promise blade along his palm and another pained wince, he set his bloody hand on the seal.

A countermeasure to prevent it from being accessed by anyone — coming in or leaving — without explicit permission. 

The door pushed outward to reveal a darkened road lit only by a single lantern. A man stood in the shadows, covered in a cloak not dissimilar to theirs. “Ah, the lovebirds. It took you two long enough.”

The voice was familiar, dry and bored. He emerged from the shadows, light illuminating the impassive face of Lord Issei Matsukawa. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his cloak, shoulders slumped in a slouch.

“I’m afraid murdering your own father tends to be a bit time consuming.”

Issei chuckled, slipping his hands out of his pockets to pull Rintarou into a tight hug, sharp chin resting on a cloaked shoulder. “Always a pleasure to see you, Rin.” His lazy gaze shifted to look at Osamu. “And our little guard. You did a bang up job playing your part tonight.”

Osamu watched the two royals break apart, hands patting backs. “I feel bad for lying to him.” RIntarou flashed a smile at Osamu, the expression tucking itself between Osamu’s ribs.

“No, ya don’t.” He took a playful swipe at Rintarou before shoulder checking him. “Yer a manipulative little bastard and I lo—”

It felt almost wrong how unaffected he was about what Rintarou had done. His thoughts drifted to the puckered scar on his arm. A mandatory promise to the royal family in order to join the King’s Guard. I shall not commit acts of treason. I shall not provoke sedition and shall quash acts of rebellion. I shall protect them from harm to the best of my abilities. Had the scar disappeared now that the king was dead?

“Perhaps not.” Rintarou laughed before pressing a delicate kiss to Osamu’s temple. His eyes drooped, breath warm against his skin. “Are you going to finish that sentence?”

Issei shoved his body between them, draping his long arms around their shoulders. “That was quite cute. But if you’re done flirting now, we really need to get a move on. Ki’s got a carriage waiting at the outskirts of town. My baby cousin gets a bit ornery when he has to wait too long.”

“Lead the way.” Osamu mumbled, trying to shake Issei’s arm off.

They ran through the streets of the capital — shops, restaurants, and homes all dark. The city was long asleep while the nobles enjoyed the revelry in their ivory tower. Boots clattered against cobblestones rhythmically, breath growing ragged from cold air biting at lungs.

“Lord Issei.” Osamu spoke with a pant, feeling sweat drip down the back of his neck. “That story with yer lover...”

Issei laughed, bold and bright. “After Rintarou told me his plans for this evening, I broke up with my dear Takahiro just ‘cause I knew it’d be a perfect distraction for you.”

Rintarou scoffed, flashing a goofy smile as they approached the city gates. “One day Mayuri’s actually gonna kill you, Issei.”

“In her dreams.” Issei grinned. “Hiro would have to hire a mage just to even get close to killin’ me. And he’d never do that.”

They stopped several properties away from the city gates, tucking themselves into a narrow alleyway between a house and an empty stable. 

“Osamu.” Rintarou spoke in his ear, gesturing at two guards stationed at the gate. “I need you to put on your best King’s Guard face. Tell them I’m a random noble and you’re accompanying me back to my country.”

“Dare I ask what you two woulda done to them had I not come with ya?” Osamu looked from Rintarou to Issei and back again, their narrow, lazy eyes full of mischief. Cats who swallowed canaries.

“Kill them.” Issei said with a shrug. 

“Kill them.” Rintarou nodded.

“I… I should’ve guessed.” Osamu sighed. “Alright, let’s go then.”

“This is where I leave you two, but I’ll wait until you guys are safely out of the city. Just in case you need back up.” Issei said with a crooked smile, flourishing his hand — black shimmer of necromantic magic coating his fingertips. “Then, I need to go make sure Toya hasn’t been arrested.”

“Thank you for your help, my friend.” Rintarou gave him a final hug.

“Always a pleasure.” Issei bowed before tucking back into the shadows.

Osamu’s fingers grasped the pommel of his sword as he and Rintarou walked towards the city gates.

“You there!” One of the guards heard the crunch of leaves under their boots. “Stop! State your names and intentions.”

“Good evenin’.” Osamu plastered his lips with the politest smile he could manage. “Sir Osamu Miya, knight of the kingdom and King’s Guard inspector. This is Lord Kouji of House Terada. I am escorting him back to Niiyama.”

“Oh, apologies Sir Inspector, My Lord. Carry on.” The guards both bowed, gesturing for them to continue. 

They trudged down the path out of the city, simultaneously breathing exhales of relief as they disappeared from the view of the gate.

“Rintarou. Rin.” Osamu said, breath coming out in a white puff of air. It was a lot colder out here than in the city. “I know the Itachi cousins are lettin’ us live in their country but… what will that entail?”

Rintarou stared at him for a long moment as they walked before slipping his fingers into Osamu’s palm. Trembling from the late autumn air. “Prince Kiyoomi wants to instate me as part of his council when he’s crowned. Foreign relations. And you, my love, you can do whatever you wish. I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to a competent knight joining his personal guard.”

In the distance, a carriage drawn by two massive white deer came into view. Two men stood before it, leaning against the door. One tall, with curly black hair identical to Issei’s. The other, blonde, an ugly mug Osamu has had to look at every day for the past twenty-five years.

Rintarou let out a breathy laugh. “The only downside is you look just like Atsumu and the prince is apparently quite enamored with that moron.”

“I s’pose we all have our flaws.” Osamu squeezed the hand in his grasp. “I’m guessin’ ya knew about that this whole time?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t.” Rintarou tilted his head, the cloak hood slipping down to his shoulders. “He met Kiyoomi back when we were all teenagers.”

“Wait, that elf boy in the woods? The one Tsumu was moonin’ over for like three years?” Osamu groaned. He and Atsumu used to spend their summers with their mother near the Itachiyama border. Atsumu snuck into the forest more times than Osamu could count.

“I beat him at a game of strip poker once. I agreed to let him keep his underclothes on provided he told me the biggest secret he could think of.” Rintarou giggled. “Thank the gods he took the bargain cause I really didn’t want to look at your brother’s dick.”

“Yer evil.” Osamu elbowed him.

“Well, I did commit patricide tonight. So _yer_ probably right.”

As they approached, Atsumu pushed away from the carriage and waved. Most of the finery he’d started the evening wearing was gone. The embroidered doublet and pants were swapped for a riding costume, mask exchanged for a fur cap, and his warm cloak was draped over much of his upper body. “Samu!”

Osamu ran forward at the sound of his twin’s voice, scooping him into a tight rib-crushing hug. Atsumu buried his face in Osamu’s cloak and whispered into the fabric. “Yer not allowed to tell anybody, but I’m really gonna fuckin’ miss ya.”

“Yer not comin’ to Itachiyama to visit yer…” He glanced at Prince Kiyoomi, still leaning against the carriage with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his face tilted towards the starry sky. “Friend… anytime soon?”

Atsumu laughed, a familiar and warm sound. “Well, someone’s gotta clean up yer damn mess.” He shot a glare at Rintarou who raised his palms in mock surrender. “But once things calm down…”

“Hey.” Osamu’s hand met Atsumu’s shoulder, gripping hard. “Thanks for yer help tonight, whatever that entailed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anythin’ for my least favorite brother.” Atsumu smiled, sadness apparent in his features. “I actually… er.. I spent a lot of the evening packin’ some of yer belongin’s for ya…” He averted his eyes, scratching the back of his head. “It’s not much… there’s only so much room on the carriage but… it’s better than nothin’.”

Osamu pulled him into another hug, wrapping his arms tight. “See ya around, dumbass.”

“Yeah. Later shit-for-brains.”

“That was adorable, truly. But we should leave now if we plan on getting across the border before daybreak.” Kiyoomi spoke, eyes looking entirely unamused.

“You heard his highness.” Rintarou said, fingers pressing into Osamu’s arm and tugging him along.

Kiyoomi pulled his fur-trimmed hood over his head and a half-mask on his face before clamoring into the driver’s seat of the carriage.

Osamu and Rintarou climbed inside the carriage itself — knees and hips and palms pressed firmly together — and blanketed themselves beneath their cloaks.

It wasn’t long until exhaustion bit at the corners of their eyes and dragged them into a deep sleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Unfamiliar landscapes slid by as the carriage rattled down the Itachiyama road. The forests of the borderlands had morphed into rolling hills dotted with farmland and elven villages. Osamu couldn’t help but be fascinated by it all.

They turned, sky shifting to reveal the mid-morning sun — its beams shining through the carriage windows. To his left, Rintarou mumbled as the glare finally woke him up.

He stole a glance to find Rintarou looking at him, eyes half-lidded and smile terribly soft. Osamu exhaled, letting his hand traverse the distance between them to meet Rintarou’s jawline. “Good mornin’.” He whispered.

“Morning.” Rintarou reached out both hands to embrace his face — one thumb brushing softer than silk over a cheekbone and the other ghosting over his chapped lower lip.

Osamu felt his eyes drift close as Rintarou caressed him, familiar fingers finally giving into years of temptation. He pressed a kiss to Rintarou’s thumb, earning himself a satisfied sigh.

“Your breath reeks.” Rintarou whispered as Osamu opened his eyes.

“Well.” Osamu leaned in closer. “Yer gonna have t’ forgive me. I was a bit busy last night.”

Rintarou placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I can. Mine doesn’t exactly smell like freshly picked lilac either.”

“Rin.” He whispered. Enough of this.

Rintarou understood, shifting in the bench until he was pressing Osamu against the wood panels of the carriage walls. Warmth flooded his stomach as Rintarou met his lips, fingers slipping beneath the collar of his gambeson to brush along his collarbones and loosen the straps.

They split apart to catch their breath. “Why did we wait so long?” Rintarou whispered. “That time in the field doesn’t count.”

He remembered staring down at Rintarou, wildflowers poking through his brown hair and looking like an oil painting. The most beautiful boy in the world — skin smudged with dirt and the hairline cut along his cheekbone included. _Are you gonna do it?_ Gold-green eyes had dared, drifting to Osamu’s lips.

Their first and last kiss. The one time before the masquerade ball where they allowed themselves to be selfish. To chase what they wanted.

Then, it was over. As fast as it began.

“It counts to me.” Osamu leaned his head in the crook of Rintarou’s shoulder. “Thought ‘bout it for all these years.”

His lips met the base of Rintarou’s neck, feeling a chuckle vibrate through his windpipe as he kissed the sensitive skin. “You’re a terrible, nostalgic sap.”

“There are worse things t’ be.”

Rintarou’s hands meet his shoulders, and he’s pushed backwards. Lips breaking free and head meeting the bench of the carriage. Rintarou planted his palms on either side of Osamu’s arms, pressing kisses along his jawline, trailing down his neck and settling into the divot between his collarbones.

There’s a bang at the window then a muffled voice. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Rintarou pulled back. Green eyes holding a joyful spark, laugh crinkling the corners. “He’s gonna be our King soon. I think we should listen to him.”

Osamu straightened up, feeling Rintarou’s arm snake around his waist and pulling him close. Rintarou’s head met his shoulder. “Yer prob’ly right.”

There’s a long, comfortable silence. An effortless talent cultivated over a decade of friendship.

Rintarou leaned his head back, eyes staring up at the roof of the carriage. Slow strokes of his fingers brushed against Osamu’s gambeson, leaving faint trails of contact on the skin below. “I don’t… I don’t think what I did was right.”

“No, but it was what needed to be done.” Osamu said, his voice faltering. “Inarizaki can finally be at peace.”

“Too bad we won’t be there to enjoy it.”

Osamu rested his head against Rintarou’s shoulder. Soft lips ghosted over his forehead, delicate kisses planted along his hairline.

“At least we have each other.”

“Yeah. Finally.”

* * *

_We'll keep the fires alight,  
_

_I'll face down the world with you_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading~!!
> 
> As always, you can find me on twitter [@andraste_](https://twitter.com/andraste_/status/1303180820300005376?s=20)  
> Art for this fic can be found [here](https://twitter.com/andraste_/status/1307595289180565504)  
> [Fanart](https://twitter.com/snfIwer/status/1322023955985620992) by @snflwer
> 
> Thanks to Grace and Kam for betaing.
> 
> Title from I Hold You by CLANN
> 
> This fic is inspired by the Dragon Age: Inquisition mission "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts" in which you must stop a plot on the Empress' life.


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